


Timeless Inevitability

by ThatPeskyBoat



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: But I can't think of any :), Honestly there's probably more tags I could give this, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lalonde and Strider plan to take a b down, Mild Language, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 11:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11827377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatPeskyBoat/pseuds/ThatPeskyBoat
Summary: Lalonde attempts to come to terms with her own mortality after receiving a letter from someone dear to her.





	Timeless Inevitability

**Author's Note:**

> Suddenly got inspired to write this after losing a bunch of progress on another fic :'). Hope y'all enjoy this.

The letter came exactly at the time that you had expected it to. After all, it always did. Every week it would arrive, when the clock chimed and signified the eleventh hour of the third day. Otherwise known as eleven o’clock on a Wednesday morning. To anyone other than yourself, one might think that it was due to future sight that allowed you to know when it would come. That was only partly true. You could hear it slipping through your front door, the sound of the paper hitting the floor acting true to the almost clockwork expectation of this weekly ritual. Today when the letter came, you were standing by the kitchen window, slowly sipping from the espresso glass that graced your hand. A soft, satisfied sigh passed by your carefully painted lips - they were a delicate shade of lilac that day.

 

Once the espresso glass was emptied of its contents, you turned on the tap in order to rinse it out and wash it. Light streamed in through the window, reflecting off of the glass as you lay it on the draining rack in order to dry off. Soft, slender hands were dried off on a nearby towel, before you finally made your way over to the front door. Your fingers trailed upon a nearby shelving unit, the cool smoothness pleasant under your fingertips. There was a thick envelope sitting in front of your door, covering up the “d am” of the doormat that should’ve said “Come in and amass.” Certainly an amusing location for it to fall. You’ll be sure to tell him about his incredible feat later.

 

Picking up the letter, you take a moment to scrutinise it. It was heavy, as if there were quite a few pieces of paper sealed within. There was a floral pattern gracefully embossed upon the paper, which contrasted with the odd chicken scratch handwriting that had carved out your name onto the whiteness. A vague scent of pizza and AXE body spray seemed to linger about the letter, which hardly surprised you. In fact, it just confirmed your suspicions about from who it was from. Hand-delivered as always, made evident by the lack of address and postage stamp.

 

As usual, you take a moment to appreciate the amount of work that he must have put into having delivered as such. You aren’t surprised by the level of effort that had been enacted to get it delivered. Rather, you expect nothing less from the work of Mr Strider. Instead of pondering any further on it, you take painstaking care to slowly open the envelope in order to preserve the paper that it was made from, despite knowing that you were going to be burning them both later on. This effort was perhaps a passive aggressive move in the small game of one-upmanship that the pair of you seemed to constantly play, giving you another tally against his almost equal number. A friendly rivalry, that you were obviously winning in.

 

With a lick of your thumb, you gently slide the paper out of the envelope. It's been folded in about fifteen different ways, and you're half sure that the next time he sends you a letter that you'll find a small origami swan. Or perhaps it would be a crow. A chuckle comes from somewhere as you think about how outraged he would be to have something like that linked to him. Strider _hated_ crows. Making a mental note to fold your next letter into an origami crow, you place the envelope down to the side and unfold his letter.

 

Predictably, the paper is huge. A2, if you were to hazard a guess. At the top is a couple of idle doodles, along with the fact that it seemed to have been written over a faded poster from one of his older movies. As your violet gaze lays upon the chicken scratch scrawled in blood red ink, your tiny smirk disappears into a flat-lipped neutrality.

 

 

lalonde

its time to get our kickass asses into kickass gear and throw the heat up a notch because were starting to get targeted.  
i mean i know we were before but now its even worse because if we dont get our asses into gear were probably going to get murdered in our sleep by some lackeys that the batterbitch has because you know we fucking murdered her other gross juggalo giggolo lackeys.  
meet me where we usually do in about an hour  
todays the day lalonde so i hope you got your shit in order like we talked about  
respect yo

strider

 

 

The letter was put down gently atop the envelope, and you sweep back into the kitchen. Everything, as Strider had said, was in order. Of course you had prepared for it. Since the last attack, attempts on your life had increased in frequency, and it was almost every day that you were fighting to stay alive. Not that you minded the constant strifes that you found yourself participating in too much, but violence was starting to become dull and many a gorgeous dress had been ruined from bloodstains. At this point, you had been tempted to wear it as a fashion statement, however the mild smell of copper that lingered around the hardened spots wasn't exactly the most pleasant.

...

Your thoughts were derailing again as you sat down at the kitchen table, looking at the empty seat across from you. The tick-tick-ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to be taunting you, reminding that your death was to come soon. You knew that you and he wouldn't win. You weren't arrogant enough to believe that you and Strider could actually kill her, but you knew that attempting to do so would end in the pair of you becoming martyrs. That was the plan - what you two wanted. To become symbols of an uprising that would allow for other schemes to fall into place. However... Death was a heavy concept. You had always known that you were going to die, and to the hands of the Batterwitch herself. Close encounters had made you doubt your steadfast knowledge, but each survival up until now had only solidified the fact that your fate had been sealed to her hands.

 

As much as you knew this, you felt that you hadn't the time on this planet that you should've had.

 

A glance to the clock told you that you'd been staring at your steepled fingers for around ten minutes, contemplating what you were just about to do. The spotless house that you currently sat in wouldn’t be touched by human hands for another four hundred years, and you wondered what would become of it when you died. There it was again: another cacophonous, melancholy note struck in the perfect orchestra of your thoughts. It wasn’t hard to say that you that you were unfamiliar with it, knowing that you had often acted as the heralding usher of demise to many others, however the thought that it would happen to yourself was a different story. As a young child, one often tends to have no concept of mortality. When growing up, this thought that you could live forever tends to stick with you, drives you to do reckless things due to thinking that Death could never take you. As an adult, it’s dulled, and your thoughts are full of what else is going on in life.

 

Truthfully, the thought of dying terrifies you.

 

Another glance up at that cutesy cat themed clock tells you that you have half an hour to meet Strider. With each tick of the second hand the oversized tail juts over to the one side, and then back to its original place. You used to adore how there was no smooth swing between each second. At the time, it had seemed quirky to you. Watching it had roused you from your seat, tempting you over there to turn it off. As your hands reached up to pull it off the wall, you find that you don’t really want to switch it off. The menial things were beginning to snatch away what little time you had left. Bringing your hands down firmly, you turned away from the clock, letting its strange jarring movements continue with a _tick-tick-tick._

 

Now that clock would live out its days ticking away until the battery ran dry and exploded in expired alkaline substances. Maybe it would be restored by the future inhabitant of this house. You returned to the chair, pushing it back into it’s place, lining up in a neat parallel to the table. One more glance around the house was taken, before you strode back into the hall. There was determination in your steps now, because really you had known all along. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted to believe it, but you knew that today would have to be the day. The visions had never been wrong and if you had just accepted it earlier, you could’ve been more productive that day.

 

The time for that had passed though. For now, you were just going to pick up the letter, slide it back into the envelope and head out to meet your brother in arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Give me a heads up if you think there's any tags I need to add to this! Thanks for reading <3


End file.
